For Gold and Glory
by Firebreath Fishslap
Summary: In the aftermath of the Calamity, a young, misanthropic Miqo'te contemplates her life, her past, and her future. Written as backstory for my player character.


**A/N:** This was originally written over the course of a few months for my Lodestone blog as a backstory for my FFXIV character, Jingles Ischa. Some of the formatting and style's a little weird as a result, as I cut out a lot of stuff so I could meet Lodestone's rather restrictive 10,000 character limit on blog posts. A lot of the stuff here assumes that you have familiarity with the source material, so it may be a bit hard to follow if you don't play the game. I might do something like this again in the future, since this was a pretty fun story to write out.

* * *

The harsh Ul'dahn sun bore down, red-hot, upon the back of a Miqo'te worker as she lifted a pile of rubble into a wheelbarrow. A loud buzzing passed by one ear, and she flicked it to shoo away that particularly persistent fly before continuing her work. All around her, others, of all races were performing similar work. Five people to a large wheelbarrow, all clearing away rubble so that further rebuilding could take place.

The outer walls of Ul'dah had long been rebuilt (it had been first priority after the Calamity, what with the Amalj'aa still lurking outside), but many of the inner neighborhoods remained as they had been when the dust first cleared five years ago- dirt, rubble, and bare brick, broken fingers of pillars reaching up into the sky as if waiting for Thal himself.

But, when the Syndicate remembered that those neighborhoods still remained, they would offer a simple prize to any who would listen: a bag of gil for a day's work. And so, the day laborers came. Jingles came, because gil was gil, and it was better than trying her luck out in Amajina and Sons' mines.

She stabbed the head of her shovel into a pile of shattered brick and glass, stomping her foot down on the top of the head when it didn't go in, and tugged it up, bringing a sizeable cloud of dust up with the brick as she dumped it straight into the wheelbarrow. The dust choked her lungs, causing her to cough, and settled into her hair and fur, turning them a brownish grey. She shook her head a couple times to clear the dust from her ears before returning to her work. If the water was running today, she was going to give herself a nice, long bath once she was done.

For some time now, there'd been quite a bit of chatter coming from her right. A Roegadyn man (Hellsguard, by the look of him), and a Hyuran woman (Midlander, maybe?) had been gossiping through their work.

"Can you believe they built all of those houses outside the city, and they're not even open to Ul'dahn residents? What is the Sultana thinking?"

The Roegadyn man grunted. "It's supposed t' be encouragin' adventurers to settle down 'round here, or somethin' like that. Get the adventurers moved in, city gets new blood 'n' new labor."

"Personally, I think it's all a load of chocobo dung. The city wouldn't need adventurers if the Syndicate actually gave a damn about the people already living here!"

Jingles scoffed, and refocused on her shoveling. The Ul'dahn government had been sucking at the teat of the Adventurers' Guild ever since the Calamity; with the local government stuck on rebuilding, it was up to the guild to do everything that didn't fall under that category, from courier work, to acting as mercenaries for the Flames, to whatever convenient work needed to be done. Not that different from herself, really; they did what no one else would in exchange for a pocketful of Gil. Of course, adventurers were more likely to die in glorious battle against a Primal, or the Amalj'aa, or something equally scary. She was far more likely to drown herself in a tankard of ale.

The hours droned on, the black fur of her tail growing unbearably hot under the unrelenting sun, until it finally dipped below the horizon and the end of day bell rang out across the yard. She shoveled one last clump of rubble into the wheelbarrow and dropped her shovel on top of it. The gossiping Roegadyn grabbed the wheelbarrow and began to wheel it over to where several others had been linked up at the far end of the work site, while Jingles joined several other workers near the Immortal Flames representative.

"Line up! You'll get your dues in turn," the Flames representative called out. The workers began to scoot together into a clumped facsimile of a line, and that seemed to be good enough for the representative, as he began to call out names. Slowly, the line scooted up closer, workers murmuring gossip as they waited their turn. Eventually, the Hyuran vagrant in front of Jingles moved aside, and she found herself staring up into the face of the Flames representative as he stared into his ledger. He looked up, and his eyes lingered for a moment on her ears and eyes before moving back to his ledger.

"Don't see your lot around here much," he muttered. "Name?"

"R'nophlo Ischa."

"Good work today." He handed her a bag of Gil, and she moved to the side, opening the top of the bag a bit so she could count the coin. A hard day's work, and it barely fit in her palm. The crowd continued to move to the side, none willing to move on until they were sure everything was done and taken care of, until the Flames representative's voice rang out over them.

"Starting tomorrow, control of this construction site will be taken over by the Mirage Trust. You will need to report to their foreman before starting work tomorrow to ensure that all of your information remains current and that you can continue working with this site."

 _For gold and glory indeed,_ Jingles grumbled to herself. _Just like always._

This would just go the same way it always did. She would show up for work the next day. If they wanted to keep their jobs, they would need to be hired under Mirage Trust ledgers, and those who couldn't sign up with them would be whittled away until not a single worker remained who wasn't under the Trust's employ. It wouldn't even be worth it to show up anymore. Maybe it was better to give up here. Try and see if the Merchant's Guild needed someone to be a courier again.

The Flames representative was still talking, but Jingles had long stopped listening. She pocketed her bag of gil and stepped around a pile of rubble as she worked her way back toward civilization, and the slums of Ul'dah.

* * *

...

* * *

For all Ul'dah made of its prosperity and wealth, it was far too willing to turn its eye away from the people it was built on. R'nophlo first realized this at age ten, when her father lost his third job since her birth. As her mother packed up their few luxuries (a battered pocketwatch, an idol to a Raptor tribe god, a pair of silver spectacles) to sell on the markets, she snapped at R'nophlo to go find her husband and bring him back.

The first place she checked was the Platinum Mirage, who normally turned her away at the door because of her family's debts to them. Instead, the Lalafell receptionist told her to tell her "ale-stinking" father not to come back unless he actually had coin to spend for once. If he was already ale-stinking, then he'd probably been to the Quicksand, and that was probably where he'd returned.

She slunk up the steps to the Quicksand and glanced through the front door. There he was, sitting alone at a table, halfway through a tankard of ale. Just as she tried to slink inside, a hand grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and lifted her up.

"Little cubs aren't allowed in the tavern without their parents," the door guard, a large, greenskinned Roegadyn said. R'nophlo tried to babble out an objection, but he dropped her on the ground outside the front door before taking up vigil in front of it.

There was nothing to do now. Making an incident of this would just cause trouble for her parents. She had to hope someone would come by and help her. Grumbling, R'nophlo took a seat on the bench at the bottom of the staircase and waited. Every now and again, a group of adventurers would come past, but when she called out to them, not one would stop. When a lone adventurer in mage's clothing came walking up, she ran up to him and quickly got her situation out to him.

"How much are you willing to pay?" he asked with a flat expression.

"What?"

"I'm not getting your dad out until you give me some gil. That's how it works at the Guild, kiddo."

As R'nophlo's eyes brimmed with tears, she noticed something clanking on his belt. A coin purse, filled to the brim...

She grabbed onto his leg, sobbing, and he quickly kicked her off before running up the stairs. He didn't even notice that his belt was now one bag lighter in his retreat.

The next adventurer was far more accommodating of her request once she pressed a few hundred gil into his palm. He walked in, grabbed her father by the arm, and pulled him right outside.

As R'nophlo led her father through the alleyways, his body swayed to-and-fro, and the distinct smell of cheap ale wavered around him. He muttered incessantly in words she couldn't understand, and she prayed that a thief wouldn't decide they were easy pickings. As their home finally came into view, her father finally mumbled something she understood.

"Never shoulda left Whisperin' Springs..." he said, and R'nophlo bowed her head. It wasn't like she knew what her parents' home village was like; she knew enough of her race's customs to know that she was likely a child of taboo. No, she definitely never wanted to visit.

As they passed through the doorway, a jar shattered on the wall next to R'nophlo's head. Her mother stood in the middle of the room, hair on end, holding another jar, and she let out a yell and threw it at her father. R'nophlo quickly dodged out of the way of this one and scurried to the corner of the room as her father stumbled forward, swinging for her mother's arm. The fight quickly became yells, and R'nophlo did as she always did: she tuned them out.

She slunk to her bed and sat down upon it as her parents screamed and spat at each other. After a moment, she pulled the bag of gil she'd swiped from the adventurer from her belt, and began to count the coins on her palm.

In total, it came out to be ten-thousand gil. Not as much as their home was worth, but more than a fair amount. And this guy had just been carrying that on his belt? He hadn't been keeping it safer than that?

Those adventurers she'd seen at the guild... they were no different from the merchants she'd seen wandering the Gold Court. Flaunting their wealth everywhere while being all too willing to kick her to the side.

It all just made her sick.

* * *

...

* * *

The walk back home was as lonely as ever. Every now and then, someone would join Jingles on her way home, but there wasn't usually anyone personable enough to join her. She rarely ever talked, and when she was, she was a grump. That was more than enough to scare off most people who would be interested in talking with her at the work site.

The walls of the alleyway were devoid of aether lamps, and the light of the moons (moon, she had to keep reminding herself that there was only one now) didn't reach this far into the city. People always assumed she could see through these alleys at night just because she was a Miqo'te, likening her to a common coeurl. Her confidence only came from how often she'd gone through them, knowing their every turn by heart. An Ala Mhigan refugee ducked into an alley as she passed. Vaguely, she remembered clocking him upside the head for trying to mug her once.

After several minutes of walking alone, she finally came upon her residence. It was one of many conjoined buildings that made up the walls of the city, only a few yalms wide at most. The only thing that differentiated it from the other buildings was the massive hole in the roof, covered only by a tarp. She pulled her key from her pocket and unlocked the door. Silently, she walked into an empty home. Five years ago, she'd lived here with her parents.

But that was five years ago. And her parents were gone now, having gone missing in the Calamity like so many others in the world.

She silently scanned the room, her eyes passing over the dining table and toward where her bedroll lay. There was a puddle of water on the floor; the tarp must have leaked again. She'd need to climb up on the roof and fix it again. Sighing, she placed her bags on the table and collapsed into the wooden chair. Every muscle in her body ached, and that made her only feel more irritable. She was going to have to find another job again. It felt like she'd never escape this cycle at this point.

She needed a drink. The Quicksand was probably still open (did it even close?), so that was always an option.

Jingles leaned back into her chair and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. As soon as her body stopped aching so bad. Then she'd make that walk.

* * *

...

* * *

As a kid, R'nophlo had made a habit of hanging around the Pugilist's Guild. Her father's exorbitant debts to the Platinum Mirage, their sponsors, meant she'd never be allowed in officially, so she'd had to make do with watching from afar. Sometimes she'd sneak in and hide among the trainees until someone recognized her and threw her out. The lessons weren't hard to grasp, and learning how to properly kick and punch meant she didn't hurt herself as often when she got into fights.

Most of the time, she just ended up sitting outside the Guild and watching the pugilists walk past, usually on their way to beating someone else up for their gil. There were a good number of adventurers among their conscripts, and from the sound of it, a lot of them used those skills to fight monsters. It all seemed kind of stupid. Even with those leather hora they used, it just seemed like a good way to get killed. No surprise that she rarely saw the same adventurer twice.

Today the guild seemed somewhat sedate. A couple of young Lalafell had come through the front door, chatting between themselves. A Hyuran man went scurrying through the Platinum Mirage's doorway, grabbing coins from the ground between sprints. That seemed to be something the trainees did there often. Maybe the guildmaster was just a cheap bastard.

A Hyuran man with a pair of hora clipped to his belt and a notepad in his hand strode out next. A loan shark. R'nophlo quickly slipped off the bench, intending to make her way toward the alleys, but as she moved, the man made eye contact with her.

"Hey! You're R'ischa Tia's kid!" he yelled.

"Shit," R'nophlo muttered. Why did this guy have to be the one loan shark who cared? He stomped toward her, and she immediately dashed off. She only made it as far as the Coliseum before she had to stop and catch her breath.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!"

Sighing, R'nophlo turned around and found herself staring the man in the face. He'd somehow decided it was necessary to get right up on her so they were only a couple ilms apart. She took a calculated step back as she responded. "Quit botherin' me."

"Your family owes the Platinum Mirage a loooot of money, kiddo. I really don't think they- Hey, get back here!"

She'd dashed off again. This time, she made it to the steps of the Quicksand before he caught up again. This time, he snarled and grabbed R'nophlo by the shoulder, pulling her around to face him.

"Listen, you little brat..."

"Quit botherin' me," R'nophlo repeated. She was doing her best to sound menacing, but with her high pitched, childish voice, it wasn't doing much for the effect.

A few adventurers who'd been loitering around the Quicksand's entrance turned to watch the scene. As the loan shark continued snapping at her, a few more came wandering out through the doorway, and R'nophlo continued standing stock still, her hands curled into fists. Finally, she'd had it. "If you don't stop botherin' me, I'll punch you so hard that your bells will never stop jingling."

"I really don't think you understand just how much debt your family's in, you little-"

Her fist met his stomach. The man gasped as the wind was knocked out of him, and she immediately swung her fist up toward his chin, the impact knocking him off his feet. She scowled, and stepped back... and suddenly someone started clapping from behind her.

"Well well! I ain't seen someone punch that hard since ol' Holyfist first struck it out at the Coliseum!" a woman's voice said. The loan shark scurried to his feet and ran back down the road as R'nophlo turned around. She found herself facing a Lalafell woman with her hair tied up in buns. For the first time, R'nophlo noticed just how many adventurers and smallfolk had gathered on the road. Some mumuring to each other, a few others looking impressed.

"That was some threat y' gave back there. 'Make his bells never stop jinglin',' huh?" the Lalafell said, smirking mischievously. R'nophlo's face grew warm. Seven hells, they'd heard that?! "Bet the whole town'll be hearin' 'bout that. It's not every day that you see a cub knock a Mirage debt collector on his ass."

If it were possible to spontaneously combust from being embarrassed, R'nophlo would have done so a long time ago.

"You really aught t' think about bein' an adventurer when you grow up," the Lalafell said. "Fists like yours really ain't meant t' be used workin' under Adeleji's cronies. Whaddya say, Jingles?"

R'nophlo took a step backwards. Her face had turned completely red, and she quickly bowed it so no one could see her face before she dashed down the road.

"Hey, where're ya goin, Jingles? I had a couple o' Free Companies I wanted to introduce ya to!"

Seriously, what was going on?!

* * *

...

* * *

The moon was high in the sky by the time Jingles slunk through the Quicksand's doors and into the dining area. She quickly found an unoccupied table and slumped down into the chair, letting out a sigh as she got comfortable. The room was loud, too loud. All around her, parties of adventurers were getting drunk and making merry, and all she could think was, _do these people ever sleep?_

There was a tap at her arm, and she looked down to see a Lalafell waiter holding a notepad. He gave her a soft smile. "You look like you've taken a bad kick from a chocobo."

"Hard day."

"Sure looks like it. How about a pint of ale to help ya perk back up?"

"Please."

"Comin' right up."

The waiter walked away, and she returned to leaving back in her chair until he came back, two tankards in hand. He slid one over to her before walking off to another table. She stared down into the depths of the tankard and watched the froth slowly bubble into nothingness. And without further ado, she lifted the tankard to her mouth.

Three pints later, she was starting to feel a little woozy. The sounds of the Quicksand's patrons had drifted away, dull in her ears. Memories of a time long past drifted through her brain, and in her drunken haze, she had not the energy to fight them off…

* * *

...

* * *

"Oh, Jingles!"

She gave a noncommittal grunt as she turned around. A girl in a bikini and silks was running up to her, a couple of other girls trailing behind her, their tails lazily swaying back and forth as they waited for their friend to finish. The dancing girl's long furred ears wagged as she grinned and stepped up to Jingles. "Busy workin'?"

"Yeah."

"Courier work's hard, huh? Why not dance like we do? Though, I guess you're puttin' those muscles of yours to good work," she said, frowning. "Anyways, we're thinkin' of goin' to the Quicksand later and gettin' pissed after we're done workin' tonight. You up for it?"

Jingles frowned and glanced up at the sky, where the great red moon burned hatefully in the sky. Food and money were equally scarce right now, and Ul'dah seemed to be on the brink of a famine. Rumor had it that the moon was going to kill them all soon. Seemed like the perfect time to drink her brains away.

"Sure."

"Shall we meet there, then? I'd hate t' try and track ya down, what with how much you're runnin' around."

"Yeah."

"Alright, see ya then!" She waved goodbye and trotted off to where the other dancing girls were waiting. Jingles sighed and picked her package back up. She'd never really felt the inclination to shake her tail for money, unlike many of the other Miqo'te girls she'd grown up with. Physical work was both more to her tastes and more suited to her build. And her attention was constantly consumed by the need to help settle her parents' debts, as repayment for allowing her to remain under their walls. What little she had left after her rent and dues, she could afford to spend on personal items. Tiny little things, like a pair of brass spectacles she wore just for the looks, and a pair of peiste-fang earrings.

And what was left after that? Went to booze.

She was destroying herself with it, but she'd found she no longer cared. Dalamud had turned red ages ago, and grew larger every day. Rumor was that the Garleans had pulled the moon from its orbit simply so they could kill them all. More than a few people had already fled the continent. To where, Jingles didn't know.

Once, when she'd fallen to the bottom of a bottle, she'd considered joining them, to try her luck among the unknown lands outside Eorzea, maybe even suck up to the tribe her parents had fled all those years ago and ask for asylum. But a more sober mind had convinced her otherwise. If Dalamud really was going to crash into the world, then everyone would die, not just the Eorzeans. Better to die on familiar ground than as a pariah among strangers.

But she couldn't shake this awful feeling. Whether it was because the aether had turned all wrong with the moon's descent, or if it was just the awful tension that was hanging over town, she didn't know. But she was sure of one thing. This wasn't going to end happily. That red sphere in the sky wasn't just going to disappear.

There were no buts about it. They were all going to die.

* * *

Streaks of flame flew across the sky.

They fell from the great red moon as it descended, thankfully striking the land some distance away from Ul'dah, and not in the crowds that now lined its streets.

Maybe it would have been smarter for them to all cower in their homes. Safer, certainly, what with the monsters that had recently appeared within Ul'dah's walls. But the crowd had gathered anyways. As it turned out, when man was faced with his own death, he could only stare in awe.

Priests, thaumaturges of the Order of Nald'Thal, read prayers out over the crowd. Somewhere, a baby cried. Jingles' mother made a sign over her chest.

"Do you think they'll win?" a trembling voice asked from within the mass.

"Will it even matter?" another voice answered.

"There goes another one," someone said, and Jingles looked up to see another streak of red fall from the moon. And then, there was suddenly a dull crack, and all around her, she heard people shifting as they looked up to the sky. Something else had fallen from the moon, somewhere far away. Jingles' father's hand tightened on her shoulder, and the crowd went silent, save for a few murmurs.

A bright red crackle moved across Dalamud.

At that moment, the moon's surface burst outward, and the sky caught fire.

* * *

When Jingles came to, the world was enveloped in a cloud of gray. All around her, there was nothing but ash and smoke. The acrid scent of burnt flesh and still-burning fires choked the air. She limped through the streets weakly, turning her head at every sound and cry. Carts were overturned, bodies and food lined the roads. Barely a living soul to be seen.

She weakly opened her mouth to cry out, but no words came. Where had the crowds gone? Were they all crushed under the rubble? Where were her parents?

Slowly, aimlessly, she walked.

At some point, someone grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the Gold Court. The grey-garbed man sat her down on a bench and placed her hands in her lap, and then his over hers.

"What's your name?"

"R'nophlo Ischa."

"Do you have family who lives here?"

She nodded.

"Do you know where they are?"

She shook her head.

"What are their names? I can check them against the lists of survivors."

"R'ischa Tia. P'sushmo Hahma."

The man nodded, and patted her hands again. "Don't worry, it'll be alright. You're alive, and that's what matters."

* * *

Days passed. The golden roads of Ul'dah had turned grey, blanketed in a dense layer of ash. By now, most of the bodies had been moved out of the roads and into a makeshift morgue nearby the Coliseum. She'd found herself lingering around there, and when a Miqo'te body was found, she was the first to know. Some she recognized. None were the ones she was looking for. Once, a massive mountain of a man and the noble Lalafell perched on his shoulder gave her some kind words to try and help her along.

She wallowed in her sorrow on that ashen stone floor until she could wallow no longer, and when that moment came, she picked herself up and joined the workers in the streets. Day after day, she helped to clear the rubble and swept the streets, helping to clear away some of the devastation the great wyrm had wrought. Perhaps uncover a few new bodies along the way.

When she finally returned to her family's home, she found that a piece of rubble had knocked out a wall and part of the roof. She covered it with a tarp and cleared out what rubble and dust she could, and then she went back to helping out. Slowly, the roads returned to their golden sheen. The city began to look like itself again.

And slowly, Jingles began to realize.

Her parents were dead. Their bodies were among those that could not be identified, burnt and buried in the mass graves near Drybone.

They were gone, and she was alone.

The Arrzaneth Ossuary held a great memorial service for the dead a month after the Calamity, and the sultana gave a great, inspiring speech to all who attended. The Coliseum suspended operations, and its gladiators were conscripted to help guard the city alongside the Brass Blades. The Platinum Mirage graciously voided all debts for those who were lost in the Calamity, perhaps the only kind thing Teledji Adeledji had ever done.

With her parents' debts forgiven, Jingles was finally allowed to join the Pugilist's Guild. She took up any job she was offered, from loan sharking to courier work to common laborer work. Once the Quicksand reopened their doors, she could go there at the end of the day, scowl at the customers, get drunk, and finally, return to her half-destroyed home.

Days passed into weeks, weeks into months, months into years. The work would change, but the pattern would remain the same. Working, drinking, fighting, sleeping. Faces would pass by, but they would never stick in her mind. Even the barmaids and innkeeper had started to look the same. The routine continued on and on, her life ebbing away…

* * *

...

* * *

Her mind was hazy, the room blurry in the dull light. The taste of alcohol lingered on her lips.

It was all so obvious now.

All this time… all along.

Her parents. Adventurers. Loan sharks. The Sultana. The Brass Blades.

This city, this country.

She hated them. She hated them all.

* * *

"I know we're a twenty-four-hour joint and I really can't make you leave, but really, Jingles, I think you've had a bit too much."

She stared out over a sea of empty tankards, and then down at the tiny hand shaking her arm. The Lalafellin barkeep stared up at her, a look of concern on her face, as Jingles glanced away toward the wall. A poster had been tacked onto a pillar across the room, too far away for her to make out the words in the dim light, but close enough that she could recognize the design. She'd seen it often enough to know the words; it was an advertisement for the Adventurer's Guild, asking for people to sign their lives away.

All her life, she'd scoffed at them. Even pitied them a little. Gold and glory, in exchange for your life? Even the greediest Ul'dahns wouldn't risk themselves that way. Even they had loved ones to care about them, who would mourn if they were gone.

But it wasn't like there was anyone left to mourn her.

"I don't want to have to make the doorguard throw you out, but if it comes down to it…"

"Fine." She downed the rest of her tankard. Already, she could feel a pounding headache gathering at her temples. "I'm going home. I'm going to sleep this off. And in the morning, I'm going to come back here and sign up for the Adventurer's Guild."

The waiter let out a gasp. "Jingles! Don't be so rash!"

"No. My mind is made up." She stood up and shoved the chair behind her before staggering her way to the door. "Put it on my tab. I'll pay it in the morning…"

"Jingles!"

But she was already through the doorway and halfway down the stairs out front. She felt like she was going to throw up, but it didn't diminish her resolve. It was like the alcohol had cleared her mind of all doubts.

Stupid thought, really. It never had before.

A woman's voice yelled protests through the door, but Jingles ignored her. Slowly, she staggered her way back home, through the dark alleyways and past unsavory establishments, until she finally reached the place she called home.

With unsteady hands, she pushed open the door and stepped over to the dusty bedroll, and finally, collapsed into slumber on top of it.

* * *

She awoke the next morning to her head throbbing. In retrospect, it had probably been a bad idea to drink as much as she had. Slowly, Jingles pulled herself from bed and toward a wooden box on the table, from which she pulled a small vial. An old potion of her father's, and it did wonders for a hangover when mixed with water. As she waited for the cure to kick in, she mulled over her choice. Much of her memories of the previous night were muddled, but the decision she'd made remained fresh in her mind.

When the headache had mostly cleared, she went back to her bedroll and pulled a pair of weathered leather hora out from under the pillow. She placed a couple extra bottles of her father's potion in her pack, and made sure she had enough jerky and water for a good journey. She'd need to run by the Platinum Mirage too. Let them know she was probably going to be gone for a while.

Before stepping through the door, she stopped and looked over the room, over the collapsed wall, at the dusty bedroll. Where her parents had once stood, yelling at each other and nearly tearing out each other's throats.

Quietly, she closed the door behind her.

* * *

"Are you sure you wanna commit to this?"

She nodded.

"This isn't a decision to take lightly, you know. You could get killed out there, or worse. And if you run afoul of the Amalj'aa, there won't be any savin' you."

"I know."

A ledger was pushed before her. "If you're so sure, I'm not goin' to stop you. I just don't think I could forgive myself if I sent a kid I watched grow up out to die."

"I'll survive. I always do." She lifted her quill to the page, and with a sense of finality, etched her name into the ledger.


End file.
